


Bakuto

by Wecanhaveallthree



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24786778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wecanhaveallthree/pseuds/Wecanhaveallthree
Summary: Old tricks.
Kudos: 8





	Bakuto

* * *

The Annex has the atmosphere of a shrine, now.

You could almost mistake the humidity and recycled air for temple incense as you approach. Push through a crowd of devotees and their worshipful mutterings. Mark the street-preachers of Gambit. Mark the confessional recaster, waiting to hear your whispered desires. Mark the random, idiot pinging of the engram decoder. Mark the faithful faces of winners and losers alike, all believing that there’ll be better luck next time. Mark their prophet’s hungry grin.

What changed? Oh, it’s always been a hustle, that’s still true. But this has a more manic edge to it. More teeth to the smile. Remember when it was just a few nervous, eager Lightbearers riding a derelict to fame and fortune? Remember when it was just whispers and rumours and a man with no name?

Don’t think too hard, his slitted eyes say. All that sound and fury is sleight of hand. Associating with Eris? Well, every magician needs an assistant to draw the eye away from what goes on beneath the table.

Just look at the one behind the bank.

A cluster of Guardians hunch over it. Their armour is smeared with snakes and serpents, the lurid neon of Prime adherents. Swaggering Reapers, stoic Sentries, the cool Collectors and untouchable Invaders. The cards stack, pile, fall - each backed by a blossom. Watch them laugh and swear and threaten over these petals of carrion. _Hanafuda_. Their own little game of flowers.

Just who do you think taught it to them? Who’s the one who keeps reinforcing those ideas? ‘Let’s be bad guys,’ he says, and they pick up their guns and go. Not to be evil. Not to be malcontent. They picture themselves as brave, as daring and willing to cross the lines that need to be crossed to save us all from the dark.

Honourable rogues. A merry band. A killer crew. Rolling on the knife’s edge, coming up snake eyes but never losing. They always follow the jade coin as it dances across his fingers. Enraptured. Worshipful.

But here’s a truth that doesn’t come with a hair-trigger.

Every dead civilisation had its Drifter. The outcast, the runt, the plucky thief who doesn’t play by the rules. All smiles and false cheer and madcap schemes to stave off the next collapse. Oh, it’s a gamble, but it’s just crazy enough to work, isn’t it?

Every one of them is still surprised to find their audacious leader gone when the debts come due. It's a disappointment to find out your saint is just another sinner.

So think hard when next you’re out on Io. Think hard when your head’s free of that cloying Annex and those eyes that track you around the room. Don’t be deafened by the clatter and clang of his machines. Don’t blindly fly the colours and play the games he lays out for you.

Don’t let the final words of our civilisation be ‘better luck next time’.


End file.
